


Delicate Care

by wickedorin



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: ...not a/b/o related though, AU, Avian Au, M/M, Self-Lubrication, because not exactly human, wingkink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 04:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17114777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedorin/pseuds/wickedorin
Summary: Written for my "Fuck SESTA/FOSTA" drabble drive. Request: "Wingkink."





	Delicate Care

**Author's Note:**

> Nice and sweet and fluffy and also wingkink. Went full-on complete uber soft AU (based on Avian headcanons so… uh hopefully it’s not hard to follow along) with this one, because while I easily could have gone down the path of semi-canon… not today, angst-Satan.

_Honestly_.  Every time they settled in to preen, they acted like a pair of barely-older-than-fledglings in love.  It was certainly a matter taken seriously, fingers combing through feathers, cleaning and giving gentle tugs to anything partially stripped or broken.  Healthy wings were a necessity, a lesson repeated since they’d been old enough to grow feathers to begin with.

They were both utterly meticulous.  Lazard could hardly help it with his own wings, gold-tipped white, so very obviously in need of the extra care to keep them spotless.  Perhaps Sephiroth had no such needs, the feathers of his wings midnight black with a deep blue-green-purple iridescence, but it was simply in his nature to take a bit of extra time for care and inspection every night.  The two of them were really quite compatible in that.

And _for_ that extra effort, of course, they seemed to believe that they should be rewarded; another mark of compatibility.  Always playful at first, a little nuzzle as one finished up, or perhaps running fingers through the thickest portions of down became a little more slow and deliberate to find the sensitive skin beneath.  If either was feeling like being _very_ straightforward, then a light run of fingertips along the wing base where feathers met flesh was sure to send warm tingles through the other…

It hardly mattered who was _technically_ responsible, as they were both engaged in the give and take, playfully pouncing or simply falling into one another, wings quickly folding and tucked against their backs as they rolled around.  Laughing, grasping for pillows to do battle with, pinning one another; it was all in fun until one of them decided that perhaps all of that touching and close contact ought to amount to something a bit more interesting.

There was usually a kiss, more often than not from whoever had wound up above, on top, wings spreading the slightest bit for balance as they rearranged themselves.  Avian clothing, by virtue of necessarily, was rather easily shed without having to pull away from yet more kisses, shirts falling away from chests and wings, pants taking a _bit_ more effort, but nothing more experienced hands and a bit of determination and dexterity couldn’t handle.

While the act of full-on _mating_ was most certainly enjoyed, so too was the slightly more simplistic act of pulling one another close, kneeling or one in the lap of the other, rutting to completion.  It was _preferred_ to mating, at times; less distraction, less need for delicate care, able to reach for their cocks and stroke through their mate’s feathers at the same time, gasping between messy kisses.  They could be in the moment to experience one another in scent and feel and sound, pleasure bounding back and forth between them before it moved in a synced wave, wings spreading and curling and enwrapping them in warmth and safety and bliss–

And Sephiroth just had a _way_ of gently running his thumb over Lazard’s slit at the exact right moment to make him shiver with _almost_ too much sensation.  They relied on their combined “wall of wings” to keep them upright until they were ready to move into a more comfortable position in the enormous nest of blankets and pillows they’d constructed, collapsing amicably as stars filled the sky above.

It was a blissfully _good_ way to end every day, to bond and to rid themselves of the rest of the day’s energy.  Not that it was the worst way to pull themselves into full wakefulness in the morning, either.  They simply had less of an _excuse_ then.


End file.
